


gifted (by blood or by ash)

by ultalumna (yujael)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassination Attempt(s), Bonding, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, MT Prompto Argentum, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Prompto Argentum, Slow Burn, political hooha going on in the background
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-02-01 05:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujael/pseuds/ultalumna
Summary: Five years ago, the Niflheim Empire staged a successful coup and removed the ruling family of Lucis from power. A new royal family was installed, the beginning of a new dynasty in Lucis under Niflheim’s rule, while the remnants of the previous age went into hiding.Now, former Crown Prince Noctis seeks to restore his family’s legacy, but his plans are quickly derailed in a way he never imagined by the new prince of Lucis, one Prompto Argentum.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 12
Kudos: 76





	gifted (by blood or by ash)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm getting back on my writing feet and I know this because I sat down and wrote the majority of this in one go. Feels great kids. I mean, look at the tags on this thing. Do they not look like buckets of fun? 
> 
> This is not, to my knowledge, going to be particularly long because this is a fast and loose work of self-indulgence. But what do I ever know about projected word counts? Pfft.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you for reading :)

The brightest stars are just gracing the sky when Dino’s boat finally comes to a halt, although Noctis only knows this by the voices that strike up as soon as the boat seems to be anchored.

“Heya, fellas! Looks like it’ll be a beauty of a night, don’t it?” 

The sound of the gangplank hitting the dock is like a boom to Noctis’ ears as he struggles to catch whatever reply is made to Dino’s greeting. He can’t make most of it out. Dino is loud and clear, something obnoxious about him that Noctis is thankful for just this once, but whoever he’s speaking to sounds lower and gruffer than Gladio. They seem amiable, though, as they help Dino unload his cargo—including the crate full of high-end jewellery boxes that Noctis is carefully buried in. 

The boxes stored artfully around him rattle dangerously as he’s moved off the boat and left on the side of the dock somewhere, threatening to cave in on him if he so much as moves his elbow the wrong way. Dino pats the box twice before his voice floats away again. A moment later, another create is set down next to Noctis’, their side jostling together briefly, and Dino slaps his hand down on it three times.

“And there it is,” he says, clapping his hands. “Badabing, badaboom. Thanks so much for your help, man. My no-good step-brother’ll be down to help me with the rest. You go enjoy those skewers, yeah?”

He drifts away again, seeming to putter around on his boat before he comes back once more to knock on the top of Noctis’ crate.

“Okay, now,” he says in a stage whisper. “No eyes on us down here anymore, so I’m gonna get you outta here, capiche?”

Noctis waits until he can see that the coast is clear for himself before replying. The lid of his crate creaks and cracks before it opens fully. No light gets in until a few of the boxes balanced on Noctis’ head and shoulder are lifted away, revealing Dino above him, backlit by dim orange lights hanging from the bridge that he’s docked underneath. Beyond the bridge, the sky has indeed lost most of its daylight.

He hoists Noctis out of the box and then goes to the next one over, opening it up with a crowbar so that Ignis can unfold himself from the rolls of silk he’d been packed away with. The small commercial dock is completely devoid of life aside from them, but Ignis still pulls Noctis into a more conspicuous hiding place near a sewer grate draining into the river while Dino works to free Gladio last. 

“Done and done,” Dino whispers once they’re all out and accounted for. He wipes a thin layer of sweat off his brow. “Whew. I tell ya what, I don’t envy what you’re gonna have to do to get in there during all the hubbub. You sure you’re gonna be good?”

“Don’t worry about us,” Ignis says calmly. Where once he would have been cool and aloof during any interaction with Dino, Noctis thinks he can hear gratefulness in Ignis’ voice, even over all the cracking and popping going on as they finally stretch their limbs. “As long as you’re still here when we return.”

Dino gives him a salute that Noctis has come to see as more of his own sort of flare rather than a sloppy gesture. “Count on it. I owe ya for all those errands, after all.”

“Consider us even when this is all done,” Gladio says seriously.

“More than even,” Noctis agrees. 

“Well then, don’t let ol’ Dino keep ya.” Dino smiles and bows at the waist with one arm gesturing to the steps away from the dock with a flourish. “Best of luck.”

Soundlessly—smartly—he mouths _ Your Highness_. 

Noctis nods silently. Above them, just out of earshot, the city is in celebration, and with every step he takes away from the dock, he sets about taking advantage of it.

— 

Tucked beneath the shadows of a sewer grate, a hidden door slides shut, sealing Noctis and his entourage in complete darkness. A few seconds pass in the chill and dust before a tiny glimmer of pale light flickers to life on the silver bracelets around their wrists and develops into a soft glow. Inlaid in each bracelet is a single crystal shard, once part of the greater whole of the legendary crystal that the Lucian royals once built their kingdom on, now just a few fragments that have retained enough power in their facets to allow them a few magical skills. 

Noctis had used the shard in his bracelet to provide some semblance of warmth during his voyage in a crate, letting it illuminate the cramped space so that he could at least keep the darkness from overwhelming him. Now he lets it glow again as magic flows to his fingertips and lights a spark, a candle flame in his palm. Ignis and Gladio hold small flames of their own, allowing them to see the cobwebbed corridor before them. 

The underbelly of the Citadel has always been a dark, cavernous place; a labyrinth of tunnels full of trapdoors and secret passages into Insomnia that stretches all the way into the topmost floors of the entire palace if one knows where to turn. 

Unfortunately—but logically, Ignis points out after they realize the full breadth of the maze before them—a map was never made of every nook and cranny. Noctis only knows the way through those tunnels which he used to play hide and seek or escape from social obligations, and those which his father told him about. It’s been some time since he was able to go spelunking and his murky memories make for tricky navigation.

On the other hand, the thick dust that has gathered on the floors over all the years to cover up whatever footprints he might have left previously also tells him that no one else has used the tunnels since then. They’ve been given the element of surprise—if only they can take it quick enough. That means finding their way out of the tunnels and into the royal suites to begin with, let alone escaping through them again with their treasure. 

Something else running to their benefit, though, is that only the faintest echoes and tremors from the din aboveground can reach the deepest tunnels. The closer they get to their destination, to corridors Noctis actually remembers using, the louder the noises get and the more certain they are that they still have time. 

Above their heads, the Citadel is alight with all the festivities and frivolities that come with the celebration of the king’s birthday. Every narrow staircase allows them to hear a few more notes of music. Every time they pass an exit into the Citadel proper they catch a few words of conversation. 

Noctis is glad that he can’t hear any of it in its entirety. _ His _father never threw excessively lavish parties like this. The city celebrated in its own way every year, but the Citadel was never consumed like this. 

After what feels like hours spent trying to find their way, Ignis’ low voice comes from just behind him, asking, “Can you smell that?”

Noctis pauses mid-step to sniff carefully at the stale air, causing Ignis to bump into him by accident. 

“Watch it,” Gladio hisses from the rear, shuffling back a half step while helping Ignis regain his balance.

“Smells like food,” Noctis murmurs.

“We may be near the service corridors,” Ignis says. 

“Oh, Noct knows those ones like the back of his hand,” Gladio says.

“Should we risk passing servants who might recognize us, though?” 

“Ah, shit—”

Noctis hushes them as a couple faint voices pass them on the other side of the wall on their right. A faint thunk follows them before the scent of heavy seasoning diminishes. They’re definitely near the kitchens. His stomach tightens, partly a reaction to the tantalizing scent and partly out of nostalgia. He _ does _ know the secret halls built for staff use, but the risk isn’t worth it. 

The secret network connects to those halls in more than one place, though. Five years isn’t enough to wipe away _ all _ his mental maps. 

“Follow me,” he whispers, turning almost on instinct as they reach a juncture splitting into three paths. He knows his way to his old quarters from here. Ignis and Gladio, too, from all the times they chased him down around these corners. He avoids the turns to reach those rooms, though, even though he wishes he had the time to see them again. 

There’s probably nothing left there for him, though. There’s no doubt in his mind that the empire ransacked everything left behind by his family.

Almost everything, anyway. There are two items worth more than anything else in the kingdom and he knows exactly where they should be. 

So, he bypasses his own chambers and makes instead for the king’s suite—_his father’s _ quarters. 

“This is it,” he says lowly as they approach one of the labyrinth’s many dead ends. The untrained eye would find nothing and turn away, but he knows what to look for, finding easily in the faint hollowness in the stone under his boot. “Everyone ready?”

Ignis nods sharply and extinguishes his own light, leaving Gladio’s to throw uncertain shadows across his face.

“What’s the plan if we don’t find anything?” he asks, not quite unsure but tense all the same. “Who’s to say what’s changed since the Niffs took over? Their king might not even use these rooms, let alone leave the rights to rule just laying around.”

“A valid point,” Ignis says from the shadows. He sighs under his breath. “But if nothing else we should search here first.”

“If the place is empty, then we go looking,” Noctis adds simply. “If anybody else knows about these tunnels then they haven’t been through in a long time. We can use them to sneak in and out when we need to.”

The simplicity of the plan seems to annoy Gladio somewhat, but he still accepts it and douses the light in his palm. 

Noctis turns and carefully approaches the end of the corridor, straining to hear sounds from the other side with his ear against the stone. Not a scuff, not a vibration. If anyone is occupying the rooms behind at all, they’re being as quiet as a mouse. He nods over his shoulder he steps back, closes his fingers over his flame, then flattens his palm against the hollow stone in the floor. A flicker of blue light passes through his veins, lingering under his nail beds before seeping into the floor.

The secret door in front of them clicks, grinds, and slides almost soundlessly out of place. Noctis lights a fire in his hand again just long enough to see a smooth panel of dark wood with a small half-circle of smooth metal attached over a round depression carved out of the wood. 

“That’s promising,” he whispers. The bookshelf is still protecting the passage. The rooms weren’t completely emptied. He reaches for the handle blindly and pushes until dim golden light floods into the passage through the gap he creates. 

Ignis takes a steadying breath as Noctis leans toward the gap and surveys his father’s bedroom, heart clenching when what he can see looks almost exactly the same as what he remembers. The sconces flanking the fireplace to his left are the only light, only just enough to see everything without a fire in the grate. The canopied bed is still there, only with different covers. The great reading chair in front of the curtained windows is in a different position but still _ there_. The record player, the cabinet on which it sits, the other two bookshelves, all remain as they were.

He turns his attention to the three doors in the room. The closet, shut tight; the sitting room leading out to the antechamber, also closed; the study, open just a fraction and seemingly even darker than the bedroom. All is still and quiet. Unoccupied.

Noctis turns slowly to his companions and tells them so. Then, “Let’s do this.”

They file into the bedroom silently, slipping through the gap between the bookshelves, not daring to make it wider in case they need to make a quick escape. Gladio sweeps over the shelves with his eyes but doesn’t move after he takes up position next to the sitting-room door. Noctis crosses over to the nightstand on one side of the bed with Ignis following suit, pausing only long enough to search the cabinet where the record player rests. 

There’s nothing of interest there but a new collection of music, but Noctis isn’t bothered. Finding nothing is the nature of being thorough, according to Ignis. They all know the chances of finding what they’re looking for without a little more digging is slim. 

“It appears they’re not here,” Ignis says when they’re finished rifling through the drawers. He turns to the door leading to the large closet and the washroom. 

“Would they be there?” Gladio asks, raising his voice to just above a whisper to be heard from the other side of the room. 

“It’s possible. The ring, perhaps?”

“It’s _ possible _ you’re pushing your luck. The jester’s probably wearing it,” Gladio sneers. “Or both, for that matter.”

“The ceremonial events were all completed by noon,” Ignis counters. “The sword, at least, should have been returned _ somewhere _ if not here.”

“We’re talking about Niffs here, though—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Noctis cuts in before Gladio can forget his voice. “Even if we only find one or the other—if we get _ one _ then we can contest.”

Despite the danger they’re in just by being in the country, let alone the capital, let alone the Citadel, Noctis refuses to leave without at least one of his family’s relics, the kings’ rights to rule for generations. 

If they find the sword of kings, his father will be able to get his foot back in the door. Lucian law recognizes anyone who wields it as a figure of authority and a judge of law in their own right. With that, at least, his family can come out of hiding and take on the usurper king. 

If they find the ring of the crystal, though, the largest surviving fragment of the great stone that they all wear shards of now… Divine law doesn’t carry as much weight as it used to, but even imperial law recognizes the ring as the foremost right to rule. It’s a long shot, but if they can find it, steal it right out from under the false king’s nose— 

“Keep looking,” Noctis orders, quietly but firmly. He tip-toes to the study, peering into the darkness through the crack in the door. Ignis slips into the closet soundlessly while Gladio crosses his arms at the sitting-room door, listening closely. 

The study looks the same from what Noctis can tell at first glance. The desk his father spent much of his time behind is in the same position if not nearly as clean and organized, as are the chairs around it. His heart pounds as he edges through the door, not willing to look at the opposite side of the room just yet. In his memory, curtains frame a small alcove on that side of the room, and when the sunlight drifts through the windows at the right angle it sets the sharp edge of the sword resting there alight. 

Now, though? All he knows is that it hasn’t been utterly destroyed, that it’s still in use during court. What does the king do with it when he doesn’t technically have to carry it around his own birthday party?

In the darkness of the study, something clicks just behind him. 

And an unsteady voice says, “Don’t move.”

Noctis freezes, eyes darting around the room as he connects the noise to that of a pistol’s safety disengaging. The only spot of relief in the tension suddenly wound through his body is that his eyes land for a half-second on the alcove across from the desk and find it completely empty. The sword of kings isn’t there. All he has to worry about is the man behind him, the one he so foolishly didn’t even realize was there.

Hopefully, Gladio hasn’t gone completely unaware.

“Okay,” he says softly, raising his hands slowly. “Not moving.”

“Who are you?” The man asks, his voice still slightly uneven. 

Noctis glances down at himself, moving only his eyes. Dressed as inconspicuous as possible, he doesn’t look much like a prince, not that he’s interested in saying that he is. He looks more like some kind of intruder. Like a— 

“You’re thieves,” the man hisses, answering his own question.

Despite having almost the exact thought, Noctis bristles in anger at the man’s accusation. He can’t stop himself from spitting out, “I’m not some lowly _ thief_.”

He lets his voice ring out into the rooms behind him and he catches a faint shuffle in response. He holds still, confident that this uneasy gunman will be the one at a disadvantage very soon. 

“Says the one skulking around,” the gunman retorts, “digging around in the king’s rooms.”

“And what are you doing here?” Noctis asks, hazarding a way to stall. “You don’t sound like that old bastard.”

He can almost hear Ignis sigh. 

But instead of getting a bullet for insulting the king, Noctis finds himself waiting for a long moment in silence. 

“What do you want?” The gunman asks, almost throwing Noctis off with how steady he suddenly sounds. 

“Like I’m gonna tell you.”

The gunman huffs. “Turn around. Slowly.”

Noctis turns on his heel, hands still in the air. Behind him, lurking in the shadows behind the door, is a blond man hardly an inch shorter than him, pale skin like a ghost’s in the darkness, blue eyes narrowed and wary, lips pressed in a thin line. He looks less like he belongs in the king’s quarters than Noctis does, his clothes worn almost to the point of rattiness and a bag seemingly stuffed full strapped to his back. Also strapped there is a cloth-wrapped sword, the hilt of which, tarnished and wrapped in frayed ribbon, pokes out from the cloth behind his head.

Despite the pistol aimed directly at his head, something that must be Niff-made with how different it looks compared to the rare firearm he sees in Accordo, Noctis snorts.

“If anyone’s a thief in here it’s obviously you.”

The man scowls at him, but jerks his head toward the door instead of replying. “Go.”

Noctis obeys, stepping out of the study and smiling faintly when he sees both Ignis and Gladio in the bedroom, knives out, ready to engage. 

“Is this all of you?” the gunman asks. At their nods, he orders them to put their weapons away, then has them move around until he has them in a line at the foot of the bed, always with the barrel of his gun pointed straight at Noctis, never giving them an opportunity to do anything else. Then, he scrutinizes them all. “So. Thieves.”

Gladio snorts. “Us? You seen yourself in the mirror today, pipsqueak?” 

Ignis elbows Gladio lightly. The gunman turns his attention to him.

“What do you want?”

“Telling you would be somewhat counterproductive, don’t you think?” Ignis replies.

“I think it’s more counterproductive if you don’t,” the gunman counters.

“Yeah?” Gladio interjects, chin raised. “Don’t get high and mighty on us yet. If you shoot our friend you’re gonna wish you’d never been born. So, how about you just point us to the treasury and we’ll go on our way?”

“Indeed,” Ignis says. “Firearms are rather loud, are they not? Terrible place to make a ruckus, this. Besides, when thieves such as us cross paths, we need not get in each other’s way, do we? _ You _ seem to be making off with a treasury of your own, after all.” 

The gunman tilts his head, his eyes taking on a thoughtful glint. Noctis almost smiles, more grateful than ever to have Ignis at his side.

Then, cautiously, the gunman says, “How about I offer you an even better opportunity?”

Gladio scoffs. “You? What do you have that the three of us can’t outdo?”

The gunman reaches into his jacket with one hand, stepping closer as he draws out a small gold disc. Then, safety engaged once more, he slides the pistol into the empty holster on his front and displays the disc before them. Noctis blinks at the shapes of crystalline wings flanking a ring of stars, frowning instead of smiling, and Ignis stiffens next to him.

“I am Prompto Argentum,” the ratty gunman announces, “Crown Prince of Lucis, heir to the throne and crystal—and I want to leave the Citadel.”

Noctis feels the breath escape from his lungs like it’s been punched out of him—Crown Prince—_heir_—where the _ hell _ does he get off— 

“As soon as possible,” the Prince—_Prompto _ continues as though he can’t see the varying expressions of shock and surprise in front of him. “And without anyone knowing, I want to leave.” His eyes brighten with a sudden idea and he snaps his fingers. “You can kidnap me!”

Noctis sputters as the absurdity of the situation he’s found himself in catches up to him. “What?”

Prompto growls and turns his attention to Ignis, apparently dismissing Noctis entirely. “You! You’re obviously the brains of this operation—”

Noctis glances over to see Ignis blinking down at the man suddenly grasping him by the lapels. On his other side, a vein is throbbing in Gladio’s forehead as he puts titanic effort into not bursting out in laughter.

“I need to leave the Citadel now, through whatever means necessary!” Prompto repeats urgently. “If you got here without being caught, then you can get me out, can’t you? Kidnap me if you must! Isn’t that what you people do?”

Gladio, grasping at whichever thread will get them out of this encounter as soon as possible, speaks up. “Absolutely not. We might be better than the average thief but carting princes around isn’t in the job description.” 

Noctis almost wheezes, his ribs burning with the effort to keep it down. 

“I said I’d pay you, didn’t I?” Prompto argues, flashing the new royal crest again, the emblem of the new Argentum dynasty. He reaches into his jacket again and Noctis bites his lip, his jaw tight, as Prompto shows them a ring of silver and blue goldstone—the ring which once belonged to his mother that his father always kept in the drawer next to his bed. “If you want riches, you can have them—_if _ you get me out of here. There’s more where this came from if you’re successful. How’s that sound?” 

Ignis nudges Noctis’ shoulder and leans in close. “Noct,” he says under his breath, barely audible even to Noctis’ ear. “This is a highly unusual situation.”

“I know,” Noctis whispers without moving his lips. 

“It may be in our best interest to—”

“What, do what he wants?” Noctis hisses. Prompto definitely hears him, but doesn’t react much. “That’s literally the last—” 

Ignis leans even closer and Noctis is reminded of Prompto’s declaration about his brains as he cuts in swiftly with, “_Leverage_.” 

Noctis pauses, glancing back and forth between Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto, whose expression is full of so much determination and naked hope that it’s almost out of place. Or maybe it isn’t, considering the nature of their plan’s sudden derailment. After all, they’ve seen neither the sword of kings nor the ring of the crystal yet, and leaving with leverage is better than leaving with nothing at all. If they can keep him from double-crossing them, then maybe… 

As Noctis considers their options, Ignis leans over to Gladio and gives him much of the same rundown. Then, he turns back to Prompto. 

“You’re asking a lot of us, you must know,” he says evenly. “By paying us, you’d make an escort out of us before your kidnappers. I don’t suppose you could tell us _ why _ you need to leave so urgently, or what you hope to gain.”

Prompto hesitates. He opens his mouth then snaps it shut again. When he finally answers, his voice wavers slightly but remains mostly steady. “I need to reach Accordo as soon as possible, but I won’t tell you any more. I can’t. If you prove that you can be trustworthy, then maybe, but—”

“Trustworthy thieves. Okay,” Gladio says, snorting. Noctis agrees silently. As if _ they _ want to trust the prince of a family that stole the throne they sit on, either.

Ignis elbows Gladio. Then, he stares down at Prompto and asks, “And what if we refuse?”

As if to answer him, the unmistakable sound of a door being thrown open practically booms from the sitting room. Everyone stiffens as several voices follow suit. Prompto looks particularly terrified, his freckles stark against his bloodless cheeks. 

“Then I’ll scream,” he whispers, practically wheezing. “I’ll scream and I’ll be the only one with a second shot at getting out.”

Gladio curses under his breath as the voices come closer. The group suddenly in the sitting room are all loud and jovial in the way politicians tend to be when they’ve had a few glasses of wine, and they seem content to remain there, but no one wants to test that theory.

“Fuck me,” Noctis whispers.

This is _ not _ how this night was supposed to go.

Ignis and Gladio burst into action as if given orders. Ignis grabs Noctis by the bicep and Gladio does the same to Prompto. Prompto does a double-take as he’s hauled toward the bookcase, finally noticing the darkness behind it just before Gladio drags him into it. Ignis pushes Noctis through immediately after, and Noctis pulls the bookcase shut as quickly as he dares. When he turns around, Ignis has lit a flame in his palm and Gladio has his other hand clamped tight over Prompto’s mouth. Prompto’s eyes are wide, his breaths coming in quick bursts through his nose as he stares at the back of the case now sealing the hidden tunnel. 

Noctis presses his ear to it, hardly daring to breathe, let alone seal the passage for good. Seconds turn into minutes, the voices filtering into the tunnel as if on a swivel, close again and then not. Noctis’ back aches with the tension wound through it. Then, finally, a woman declares that there are far better places to conduct the asinine debate they seem to be having, and the voices fade into silence, one by one. 

The minutes pass by again, completely silent, and only then does Noctis step away from the shelf.

“They’re gone,” he says, letting out a shaky breath. 

The tension bleeds out of the rest of the group. Gladio finally grants Prompto the use of his mouth again and Ignis turns his magic candle on them.

“Well, then,” he says, sighing. “It seems we’ve little choice, now.”

Prompto swallows thickly as he glances around, shoulders practically hitched to his ears. “Where—what is this?”

Noctis scoffs. “How long have you lived here now?” he asks critically, kneeling down over the hollow tile to seal the passage up properly. When he stands again, Prompto has an expression of faint wonder on his face. Noctis rolls his eyes. “It’s obvious isn’t it? What kind of palace doesn’t have secret tunnels?”

Prompto flushes so deeply that it’s visible even in the dim light. “I thought—the service corridors—”

“Nah,” Gladio says. “These are the real deal.”

“And we can get out this way?”

“Uh-huh. Just don’t get lost. If you do, no one’s even gonna find your bones.”

The flush in Prompto’s cheeks disappears. “But you know the way, right?”

Gladio shrugs. “Maybe. But we never said we’d take you along, remember?”

“Wait—you’re just going to _ leave _ me here?” Prompto wheezes. His eyes flit between the three of them with clear desperation. He finally lands on Noctis and nearly falls over himself as he rushes over and presses the silver ring into his hand. “Here! Payment, remember?”

_ This was already mine, _ Noctis nearly tells him, his palm burning where his fingernails dig in around his mother’s ring. Instead, he rolls his shoulders back and says, “Yeah, I remember. I’m pretty sure you said something about kidnapping, too.” 

Gladio hums conspiratorially. “He did. ‘Through whatever means necessary’ were the words he used, right?”

“He _ also _ said he needed to get to Accordo,” Ignis adds, most likely fully aware of how unsettled Prompto is by his apparent glee. “Correct me if I’m wrong, gentlemen, but that’s not out of our way, is it?”

“Nope,” Noctis answers, popping his lips. He slips his mother’s ring into his pocket and smiles at Prompto, the most nervous prince he’s ever laid eyes on. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, _ Your Highness_. You don’t need to pay us because you’re getting kidnapped after all!”

Prompto’s mouth opens and closes again in an impressive parody of a fish out of water as he realizes the position he’s put himself in. Then, with great effort, he swallows and nods once. “I… I did say that, didn’t I? Kidnap me if you must?”

Noctis hums, feeling a surprising amount of satisfaction considering the circumstances. He didn’t come here to kidnap a prince—especially not the usurper king’s son—but neither of his family’s relics were in the king’s chambers and there are precious few places they could be otherwise. They have to make the best out of things. If nothing else, holding Prompto in their custody nets them negotiation power. 

Princes are worth ransom, after all. Noctis knows _ that _ from experience. 

—

The tracks they left in the dust make backtracking through the labyrinth an easy task. For all his nerves, Prompto doesn’t need to be prodded any which way, either; he freely admits to a case of claustrophobia and all spends most of the trek back underground practically huddled against the three of them in turns.

While Prompto is distracted by tricks in the shadows, Ignis whispers to Noctis and Gladio in turns, reminding them of how careful they need to be in order to keep their true identities hidden. It won’t due for Prompto to realize he’s being kidnapped by the actual prince of Lucis.

“Fear not, Your Highness,” Ignis says to Prompto once they’re near the exit to the docks. “Nox knows where the exit is and from there we have a way out of the city. There will be no rotting bones here tonight.”

“Thanks for the reassurance,” Prompto murmurs. He grants no more than half a foot of extra space between himself and Ignis, though. “What’s that smell?”

“Sewage,” Gladio answers nonchalantly, his lips twitching as Prompto wrinkles his nose.

A few moments later, they arrive at what appears to be a dead-end until Noctis unveils the exit with his magic. They’re all subjected to the full force of the stench for a short time, during which Noctis is somewhat impressed with the way Prompto manages to avoid gagging, and then, finally, they’re back in fresh air.

Gladio takes Prompto by the arm again and steers him along the bank of the river until they reach the dock under the bridge once more, where Dino is laying across the crates he’d unpacked, playing at being asleep under his cap. Gladio snaps his fingers a few times and he makes a show of waking up, too.

“Hey! You boys are here just in time to help—” Dino does a double-take when he realizes they’re a party of one more, his face running through an almost comical cycle of surprised, calculating, surprised again, then uncertain. “Hey, uh—Your Highness, what—” he addresses Noctis first but immediately realizes his mistake and makes a smooth turn toward Prompto. “—do I owe for the pleasure of your company? Pardon my sleepin’, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Uh, thanks,” Prompto blurts out. He shakes his head quickly, righting himself. “I mean—sorry. Please don’t stand on ceremony or anything. Are you here to get us out of the city?” 

Dino glances at Ignis, who nods sharply, before he manages to get his feet back under himself. “Yeah, yeah, but keep it on the down-low, okay? Hush-hush and all.”

“Oh, right—”

“And pardon my surprise, I just wasn’t expectin’ an extra,” Dino adds, giving Noctis a pointed look. Noctis gives him a somewhat apologetic look in return. He hadn’t planned for this, either. “I’m not usually in the business of _ people_, y’know. High class and all.”

Gladio rolls his eyes and pulls a small paper bag out of his jacket, crumpled and folded around something round. “I came prepared,” he grouses at Ignis’ pointed brow. He slaps the small package against Dino’s chest. “You are now. Get this ship in the water—and don’t breathe a word of this.”

Dino looks down at the package digging into his chest, then at Gladio’s dark expression, Noctis’ vaguely threatening one, and Prompto’s pleading eyes in turn. Then he takes the package, stuffs it in his back pocket and nods.

“Don’t worry, boys. A deal’s a deal,” he says, slapping the crate behind him. “Help me get these loaded up and we’ll be on our way.”

They make short work of the crates, loading them back onto Dino’s boat. Prompto even assists without being asked, although he does balk when Dino opens up four of the crates and gestures him over to one.

“Chop chop, Your Highness,” he says, patting the edge of the box. “If you want outta the city undercover, you gotta be covered.”

Prompto leans over the crate and hesitates. Noctis almost feels sorry for him until he sees that he’ll be packed in with bundles of clothing. He’ll be buried in softness while Noctis will be making the trip back out of the city buried under what smells like sacks of onions.

“How long will it take?” Prompto asks.

“About as long as it’s taking you to get in,” Gladio answer shortly before climbing out of the box that he’d already had both legs in and crossing the deck. He removes several bundles of clothing, shoves them in Dino’s arms, then lifts Prompto up by the armpits and deposits him in the empty space left in the box. “Sit down and get comfy, okay? It’s just until we get out of the walls. Pretend you’re in a blanket fort or something and you’ll be out before you know it.”

Prompto nods silently and hunkers down, shifting until he and all his luggage can be properly buried. Noctis hopes that he’s not the type to get seasick, but something tells him that Dino’s going to take a bit of a loss with this shipment.

Only moments later, Noctis is curled up under a layer of onions and Dino is sailing back towards city limits. It’s full night and getting later, the sky decorated by a bright moon and brighter fireworks as the city celebrates the king’s birthday while they make off with his son.

In an effort to take his mind off the overwhelming stink that will definitely cling to his skin, Noctis turns his thoughts to the turns their night has taken, and his heart grows a little heavier. After five long years of hiding, he finally gets the chance to return to Insomnia—to return _ home_—and what does he achieve? Almost nothing. His father had advised against this and the only reason they haven’t proven all his concerns correct is that, for a reason Noctis can’t yet fathom, Prompto is so desperate to reach Accordo that he’s pretty much orchestrated his own kidnapping. 

He doesn’t know what to think of it and he hopes Ignis is doing what he does best and scraping together a few good theories while he’s packed away, as well as some ideas as to what the hell Noctis is supposed to say to his father when they return to Altissia. 

—

Noctis’ back cracks as he unfolds himself from his box. The lights of Insomnia are growing smaller, while those in the sky seem to be getting brighter. The moon, especially, sheds more than enough light on the exact shade of green that Prompto’s unnervingly blank face has taken when Dino unburies him.

“You good there?” Noctis asks. He leans over the edge of the crate to peer in closer when Prompto remains unresponsive, his expression unchanged and eyes completely unfocused. “Hello?”

Noctis feels his pulse in his throat for a half-second when he can’t tell whether Prompto is still breathing or not. Of course nothing went to plan, of course they had to top it all off by _ killing the prince_—

Gladio cuts through his thoughts by reaching past him and lifting Prompto up under his arms again. 

“Hey, you good?” he asks. He gives Prompto a couple light shakes and _ that’s _ when Prompto jerks slightly in his grip, his eyes widening and his hands fly to his mouth. “Oh, shit—”

Ignis sighs with a little sympathy as Prompto all but flies to the edge of the boat and vomits into the water. “I don’t suppose you could lend me a flame, Nox?”

A moment later finds Noctis holding a flame underneath Ignis’ small travel kettle while Ignis prepares a mug of ginger tea to the tune of Prompto retching and Dino wondering loudly at how nothing got thrown up on while Prompto was still in the box. 

“Luckily, we can avoid similar ordeals for the remainder of the trip,” Ignis says conversationally as they wait for the water to heat up. 

“He’s the one who said ‘whatever means possible,’” Noctis reminds him.

“Yes, and while this is… not exactly what we’d hoped for, we cannot be without _ some _ hospitality.”

“I know,” Noctis says, wincing at a particularly ugly sound from Prompto’s side of the boat. “Think it’ll be like this on the boat to Altissia, too?”

Ignis grimaces. “I’m of a mind to believe this is more about having been in such tight confines than seasickness, actually. This will help, hopefully. Are you well, by the way? Any nausea at all?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Noctis says, shaking his head. The kettle whistles faintly and he curls his fingers over the fire in his palm, dousing it as Ignis takes the kettle. Silence follows and he turns to look over his shoulder to where Prompto has been reduced to hanging limply over the railing with Gladio providing an anchoring hand on his shoulder. “How’s it looking over there?”

“Here’s to hoping nobody thinks to track that,” Gladio answers. To Prompto, he asks, “You good now?”

Prompto offers an uneven shrug before pushing himself upright in much the same way a baby anak gets to its feet for the first time. “Sorry, everyone,” he says carefully, face pale but no longer green.

“Drink this,” Ignis says, pressing the mug of fresh tea into his hands, only backing away again when Prompto’s hands prove steady on their own. “It will ease the nausea until we reach dry land again.”

“Oh,” Prompto says faintly, blinking down at the tea in his hands. He stares at Ignis for a few seconds before smiling loosely and taking a few sips. “Thank you. Where, uh, will we be landing?”

“Leide,” Ignis replies. “It’ll be a couple more hours yet. A few breathing exercises would not be amiss. Perhaps a nap, considering the time.”

Noctis yawns almost on cue and settles down flat on the deck. “I know what I’m doing. Wake me up when we get there.”

“And there he goes,” Gladio says, snorting.

Noctis flips him off and folds his arm up to rest under his head. Time and sound drift into obscurity for a bit, but he never truly falls asleep. He gives up and opens his eyes again when the sensations around him come back into sharp relief for a third time. Ignis is still sitting nearby, but his chin is resting against his chest, hands folded in his lap, and Gladio is pretending to also be asleep, arms and legs crossed, head tilted at a convincingly bad angle against his shoulder. Dino is busy keeping the boat on course and acting like he isn’t watching everyone like a hawk. Or a gossip.

Prompto is exactly where he was when Noctis laid down to begin with, one hand curled loosely around the mug of tea and the other propping up his chin as he stares at the steadily growing lights of the small port of Crestholm. His face is blank again, but not in the scary, unresponsive way. Just carefully, thoughtfully expressionless.

Not afraid at all for the first time.

Noctis stretches out, jaw cracking as he yawns. Prompto glances at him, but his eyes flick away almost immediately, fingers shifting and tightening around the handle of his mug, tapping a there and gone again rhythm on the rim. A play at being present in his body while his mind is somewhere else completely if Noctis ever saw one. 

He shuffles over, barely even getting his lower half off the deck in the time it takes him to scoot over. Prompto gives him a questioning look, one tinged with nerves that he doesn’t manage to smooth over very quickly.

“Sorry about all that,” Noctis murmurs. “We don’t do that to everyone we kidnap. Promise.”

Prompto offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s fine as long as I don’t have to get back in.” His face drops slightly. “I don’t have to, right?”

Noctis shakes his head quickly. “Nah. Dino’s got better connections on this side of the water. We’re good.”

Prompto nods and a more genuine smile moves in. “Well, then, uh, thanks. Thanks for…” he wrinkles his nose up with a grimace. “Thanks for kidnapping me, too, I guess?”

Noctis snorts. “What’s the deal with that? Seriously. What the hell kind of prince _ wants _ to get kidnapped? You know what that means, right? I mean—we’re not gonna _ do _ anything to you, but we’re also not gonna—hmm…”

“I know,” Prompto interjects. “I just… Okay, listen, it’s like this—I’m the Crown Prince, right? I should be able to just… go to Accordo if I want to, right?”

Noctis shrugs wordlessly, not trusting himself just yet. 

“But my, uh, my father didn’t want me to,” Prompto continues. “So, I figured I’d sneak out.”

From the corner of his eye, Noctis watches Gladio clench his fists in his lap.

“Why’d the king say no?” Noctis asks, hoping it’s enough for Prompto to open up a little more.

Prompto shrugs. “A couple different things, I guess. Safety issues, mostly. But I just—the Tidal Festival is coming up. I’ve never been to it. I even heard that the princess of Tenebrae is going to be there. How dangerous can it be if even she’ll be there?”

Noctis blinks, almost rearing back as Prompto continues to ramble about the upcoming festivities planned in Altissia. Gladio gives on pretending to sleep to run his hands down his face in exasperation.

“Wait,” Noctis says, interrupting Prompto’s inane rambling. “Let me get this straight—you begged to be kidnapped… so that you could go partying?”

Behind him, Ignis sighs. Noctis can’t tell if it’s directed at him or Prompto.

Prompto grins nervously. “I offered to pay you?”

Gladio groans. “Kid, there are easier and all-around better ways to sneak out of the house on a Friday night. Six a-fucking-bove.”

Noctis rubs a hand over his eyes, regretting the moment he convinced himself that he could pull and Ignis and get something useful in return. Instead, the Crown Prince of Lucis, the one and only recognized by law, is apparently as much an idiot as his rat of a father. 

He levels Prompto with an unimpressed look. “Well, you’re really in it now, Your Highness, ‘cause like I said, we’re kidnappers, not an escort. Don’t blame us if you get locked up in a tower after we go separate ways.”

Prompto, surprisingly, doesn’t look as downtrodden as he could. “Well, maybe I’ll surprise you. As long as I don’t have to get back in any boxes again, I think I can handle it.”

Noctis scoffs and scoots back to his and Ignis’ little corner. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Prompto murmurs, almost inaudible over the waves licking the side of the boat. 

After that, silence reigns until Ignis exhales, long and soft, and whispers to Noctis, “Well, now we know what sort of prince he is. I imagine it won’t be difficult at all to keep him in line.”

“No kidding,” Noctis grumbles. “Dumbass.

He falls asleep for good soon after, still stinging with inexplicable disappointment.

**Author's Note:**

> Ohohoho heeheeheehee, etc etc. I put great effort into making them not get along perfectly. It pained me, emotionally speaking. The next chapter will be from Propmto's point of view :D That's where the what's what is, the dealio, the drama of it all.


End file.
